Agent Running in the Field by John le Carré Read Free Book Online Page A

Rosebud
it was the only show in ourvery small town, and Florence was its only star.
    On her own initiative she had recruited the disaffected mistress of a London-based Ukrainian oligarch codenamed Orson who had well-documented links to both Moscow Centre and pro-Putin elements in the Ukrainian Government.
    Her ambitious plan, luridly overstated, called for a Head Office stealth team to break into Orson’s £75 million Park Lane duplex,bug it to the rafters and make constructive adjustments to a bank of computers installed behind a steel door halfway up the marble staircase leading to the panoramic lounge.
    As currently presented, Rosebud’s chances of getting the green light from Operations Directorate were in my judgement zero. Illegal break-ins were a highly competitive field. Stealth teams were gold dust. Rosebud in its presentstate would be just one more unheard voice in a noisy marketplace. Yet the further I delved into Florence’s presentation, the more convinced I became that, with ruthless editing and smart timing, Rosebud could deliver actionable high-grade intelligence. And in Florence, as Giles was at pains to inform me over a nocturnal bottle of Talisker whisky in the back kitchen of the Haven, Rosebud hadfound an implacable if obsessive champion:
    ‘Girl’s done
all
her own shoe-leather work,
all
her ownpaperwork. From the day she dug Orson out of the files she’s been living and dreaming the bugger. I said to her: you got a vendetta against this fellow? Didn’t even laugh. Said he was a blight on humanity and needed flushing out.’
    Long pull of whisky.
    ‘Girl doesn’t just cosy up to Astra and makeher a friend for life’ –
Astra
being the codename of Orson’s disenchanted mistress – ‘she stitches up the night porter of the target building into the bargain. Spins the fellow this yarn that she’s working undercover for the
Daily Mail
doing a feature on the lifestyle of London’s oligarchs. Night porter falls in love with her, believes every word she says. Any time she wants to take a look insidethe lion’s cage, five thousand quid out of the
Daily Mail
’s reptile fund and it’s hers for the asking.
Immature
, my arse. Balls like an elephant’s.’
    *
    I organize a quiet lunch with Percy Price, all-powerful head of Surveillance, an empire to itself. Protocol requires that I invite Dom along. It is quickly evident that Percy and Dom are not made for each other, but Percy and I go back a longway. He is a gaunt and taciturn ex-policeman in his fifties. Ten years ago, with the assistance of one of his stealth teams and an agent I was running, we stole a prototype missile from the Russian exhibition stand at an international arms fair.
    ‘My boys and girls keep bumping into this Orson fellow,’ he complains thoughtfully. ‘Every time we turn over a shifty billionaire with his finger inthe Russian pie, Orson pops up. We’re not case officers, we’re watchers. We watch what we’re told to watch. But I’m very glad somebody’s decided to go after him at last, because him and his lot have been bothering me for a very long time.’
    Percy will see if he can give us a window. It will be touch-and-go, mind, Nat. If Ops Directorate decide at the eleventh hour that another bid is stronger,there’s nothing Percy or anyone else can do about it.
    ‘And of course everything goes through me, Percy,’ says Dom, and we both say, yes, Dom, of course.
    Three days later, Percy calls me on my Office mobile. Looks like there’s a bit of slack coming up, Nat. Could be worth a punt. Thanks, Percy, I say, I’ll pass the word on to Dom as appropriate, by which I mean as late as possible or not at all.

    Florence’s cubbyhole is one step from my office. From now on, I inform her, she will spend as much quality time as needed with Orson’s disenchanted mistress, codename Astra. She will take her for country drives, escort her on her shopping expeditions and have girly lunches with her at Fortnum’s,